


pretend that you want me (i know that you’re lying)

by Anonymous



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 17:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19339327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I died last week Five,again.”“Aw, and they still couldn’t fix your face. Trouble in management?”





	pretend that you want me (i know that you’re lying)

“I died last week Five, _again_.” 

“Aw, and they still couldn’t fix your face. Trouble in management?” Five asks, cracking open the bottle of Grey Goose and pouring a healthy serving over ice. 

She can’t help her jaw from clenching, but does resist the urge to touch the unblemished skin. “That only works because you’re still cute. In a few years you won’t have that babyface to get you out of trouble.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, I can leave.” 

She leans back on the settee, decides not to call him out on it- not right now anyways. Five brought himself and all his siblings back to 2018, if he didn’t need her he wouldn’t be in this hotel room. She wonders if the other six know what their big bad brother is up to. (She thinks not, likes it.)

He throws back half his drink before speaking, “I want my family safe, to live out their lives without an apocalypse.” 

“You can’t expect me to trust you Five. You’ve broken two contracts with the Commission-” 

Five finishes his drink, glass clattering as he slams it down. “I don’t want a deal with the Commission.” 

She blinks, genuinely thrown. Five isn’t predictable- far too intelligent for that- but he always operates in sensible patterns. The logic can be traced, and the only logical answers are, well, startling. 

Five slips his jacket off, placing it on the desk chair before walking closer. Removing a jacket shouldn’t look so improper, and she blames the lack of his usual sweater beneath. Down to his shirt and shorts, he mine as well be prancing about in lingerie. (And isn’t _that_ a thought.) 

“I can’t kill you, and you can’t kill me. Who better to work with?” 

A laugh tinkles past her lips, “Sweets try me again and I will kill you.” 

He smiles, a double edged smirk, “You don’t _want_ to kill me.” 

“I prefer to keep my hands clean,” she says, the closest to an admission she’ll give. She likes Five, she’s always liked him since she first read his file. He’s caused more problems in the timeline than anyone else in existence, how could she not become covetous? 

He unbuttons his sleeves, taking the final step to be within arm’s reach. “I can make you happy. Aren’t we all looking for that?” 

It’s a beautiful image- and how could she resist him parroting her own words back at her? She’s never been one for avoiding temptation, has an office full of unsanctioned souvenirs. 

She sits up but doesn’t reach, she does have some pride to maintain. “Aren’t we feeling confident?” 

His fingers grip her chin, grin turning reckless. “You made me the ultimate weapon.”

It’s a blunt seduction, not that she would expect delicacy from Five. Still, there’s something to be said for being held by such a hand. A hand that’s pulled more triggers than doors, that’s crafted equations that nearly evaded her. 

“Very well. Make me…. happy.” Her lips quirk at the end; happiness isn’t for people like them to find. There’s only convincing lies and momentary pleasures. Some days it feels like she doesn’t know what she wants, who she is, outside of the Commission. 

She had a name once, shed with a child’s innocence. It’s downright irritating how many things about Five are attractive. His ability to live for decades alone, his pragmatism, that he never chose a name. They are fun house mirrors of each other, lightning struck the same sand. 

Five drops her chin, drops to his knees. His hands are small on her thighs, shoving her dress up. Even like this, there isn’t a smidgen of submission in him. She wonders how much it would take to force that, if she froze time and himself, using him thoroughly before starting the clocks again. If he’d be appalled at being used in such a manner- or grateful that he wasn’t conscious. 

He pulls off her purple lace thong, doesn’t say a word about undergarments for women her age. It’s almost disappointing until she spots the erection in his school boy shorts, a smirk curling in the corner of her mouth. He doesn’t meet her gaze, cheeks possibly tinted in a blush. (The rational side of her knows it’s more likely the lighting, doesn’t care.)

No, it’d be easier than that. All she’d need is one of his siblings; he’s weak for all of them. Just a hint of harm and he’d be faking the best submission she ever did see. (To break him properly, to remove all hope- well, that would just sap the fun right out of playing with Five.) 

Five isn’t one for foreplay, dives right in tongue first. She wants to giggle, at his size, that he’s allowing this, tempted to make a crack about the body she had made for him. It’s long gone now, along with her plans to earn the final promotion. She could squeeze her thighs together and suffocate him, squeeze so tight he wouldn’t be able to jump away. 

He focuses on her clit, lapping away like a kitten. She pets his hair, scritches behind his ear, and Five glares up at her, most of his face hidden. Between his eyes and eyebrows the resentment is clear, and she grins down at him, could get used to this. 

Five stabs his tongue deeper, hands pushing her thighs wide enough to burn. He’s so close yet so far from where she needs him, hips rocking up involuntarily. Five stops immediately, cool air rushing in, his gaze glittering as he looks up at her. Juices drip down the lower half of his face, and she watches a droplet curl beneath his chin and down his neck. The hedonism, the decadence of allowing time to be wasted frivolously- she could do this for an eternity. 

“I want my family in the 1950s. No accidents. They all die in 2019.”

Trading the world for his family, yes, this is the Five she remembers. “Pillow talk is supposed to happen after orgasms, not delay them.” 

“Say you’ll do it.” He strokes up her vulva, fingertips barely breaching her, the worst kind of tease. 

“Timeline preservation first, you know that Five. As long as the apocalypse happens, the details are negligible.” 

Anger flashes over his face, and she _knew_ the brat wasn’t being genuine. She’s broken small rules of course, they all have. But she’s never done anything… treasonous. 

“Good,” Five says, and without another word, his tongue is deep in her cunt, thumb rubbing her clit. He’s trying to get her off quickly now, and the Handler takes great delight in slowing down all of her reactions. 

Unfortunately, Five is rather good at eating her out like he’s been starving his whole life. (It must be all those years surviving off of spam and cockroaches.) The noises alone are indecent, loud slurps and wet sounds of flesh on flesh. He refuses to pick a rhythm, varying his speed and pressure by some method she can’t deduce. The randomness of it has her on edge, heat coiling tighter and tighter in her belly. 

She moans, feels Five shiver against her, and that’s it, the orgasm tearing through her body. For a spectacular moment it feels like she’s frozen all of time, including herself, stretching out infinitely on an apex of sheer pleasure. 

And then Five’s scooting back, pressing his cock down against his hand as if she hasn’t noticed. 

“No,” she says, daintily prodding his hand with the toe of her shiny red shoes. “No touching.” 

He growls, shaking his wrists as if to center himself before a jump. 

“Easy,” she says, tilting her foot back towards herself so the stiletto heel can skim along his erection. “Be a good boy.” 

“You’re sick,” he snaps, but he shoves his hands under his legs, doesn’t pop away. 

“Now, now. We both know your little plan is to live with your siblings until the day before the apocalypse and then turn back time.” She sighs, “I need follow through Five. It’s the timeline’s natural ending, it has to happen.” 

A sound escapes his throat that might be a whine, and she presses harder, Five’s hips making tiny little jerks. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t help you. A third time Five, how else can this dance of ours end?” 

“You will,” Five grits out, falls forward against her calves as he comes, soaking his shorts. He’s even blushing for god’s sake, and all things considered, this body is growing on her. Of how very easy he is to manipulate like this, of how indignant he becomes when reminded of his appearance. 

“You can’t know that Five, or is there a Number Eight I should be looking for?” 

He smiles, standing up, knees dark red. “I don’t need a fortune teller. How do you know this hasn’t happened before?” 

Five pops away before she can answer, a delightful shiver racing down her back. 

How indeed. 

(She takes the abandoned jacket back to her office. A piece of everlasting proof for her collection.)

**Author's Note:**

> title from aidan's for you


End file.
